


Sit by Me, Talk to Me (Just for a Moment, Please)

by Therapeutic_Steter



Series: Prompt Fics [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, May be continued, Stiles Visits Peter in the Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 11:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12387609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: iidiiotiiciintelliigence asked: Some of my favorite AUS are of the "Stiles visits Peter in the hospital while his mother is there" variety. I adore them and I don't think there are enough of them in the world.





	Sit by Me, Talk to Me (Just for a Moment, Please)

It’s too loud. Everything is too loud. His mom is yelling, screaming that he’s trying to kill her, the nurses are shouting, trying to get a doctor and trying to get his mom to calm down, the machines are beeping, a baby a few doors down is screaming, someone’s crying, and his heart keeps beating in his ears, a never-ending loud thump thump thumpthump _thumpthumpthump—_

Stiles ran, ducking away from the prying eyes and dodging the unknown hands that reached for him. He slipped into a random room, closing the door and slamming his back against it. His breathing was fast, irregular, and he scrambled to get the inhaler out of his pocket.

His heart was still beating rapidly as he finally managed to gasp in a breath of oxygen, taking measured puffs from the inhaler before finally trying to breathe normally. His limbs felt shaky and he slid to the ground, curling his arms around his legs and feeling the sting of tears prick his eyes.

He loved his mom. He really did. But the woman who he came to see every day was not his mother. That woman would either stare blankly at him, eyes fogged up with whatever medicine the doctors had given her, or would scream at him, accusing him of trying to kill her. She would even attack him if he didn’t get away from her fast enough, throwing things and slapping him, pulling his hair, scratching. It’s why he had his hair buzzed off. It’s why they don’t let him see her without supervision anymore. But Stiles was stubborn, sneaky, and  _he loved his mom_. What if she came back? What if she woke up one day and recognized him? What if she really was his mom again?

Stiles was beginning to doubt that was ever going to happen though. His dad and the doctors wouldn’t tell him anything, but Stiles wasn’t a stupid kid.

Stiles’ lower lip wobbled and he fought back sobs, wiping at his face angrily and trying to figure out where he was. It was really too quiet here, much quieter than a normal room. Even when his mom was sitting still and silent, there was still the constant beep of the heart monitor, the whirl of oxygen, the buzz of IVs.

The room looked just like any other, but Stiles didn’t see anyone. He thought at first it was empty until he stood and walked a little further into the room, startling when he saw the lone occupant sitting in the chair by the window.

“Sorry!” Stiles yelled, ducking down and waiting for reprimand. He peeked his eyes open when none came, looking over at the man again. “I didn’t mean to come in without asking,” Stiles spoke, stepping closer. The man remained silent though, sitting still just like his mother did when the doctors had just given her a strong dose of medicine. Stiles studied him curiously, pausing when he saw the pale blue eyes that seemed to stare right at him and also at nothing.

The man had horrible scars on his right side, from burns maybe? Stiles wasn’t sure. He wasn’t moving though, barely seemed to be breathing, and Stiles bit his lip unsurely. He glanced at the door. He probably shouldn’t be in here. He was invading this man’s privacy and his dad told him all the time at he was too curious, too  _nosy_ , and he needed to learn to respect people and their privacy more.

“I should probably…” Stiles began, before pausing. His eyes caught the empty vase sitting on top of the dresser in the corner and he turned, really taking in the entire room. It was empty. Other than the basics the hospital automatically provided, there was nothing. No flowers, so pictures, no letters. No ‘Get Better’ balloons or stuffed animals. Just…bare.

Stiles looked back at the man. Who was he, he wondered. Why did he have no one to come visit him? How long had he been here? How long had he been sitting, alone, just as he was now?

Stiles winced when a sudden ear-splitting scream from down the hall echoed through the hospital. That was definitely his mother. She screamed bloody-murder, not even trying to make words, just screaming. He heard more yelling, doctors and nurses trying to secure her. Sadly he was used to the sound. His mother has started randomly screaming even before his dad had agreed to commit her.

“Do you mind if I stay here for a while?” Stiles asked, looking back at the man. “I don’t like seeing my…the woman who used to be my mom like that,” he murmured quietly. It was the first time he’d put words to his fear, that he didn’t think she was coming back.

The man didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, but Stiles felt something almost…welcoming embrace him. An aura, maybe? Stiles had read about those. Yes, the man had an aura of welcoming.

So Stiles climbed onto the spare chair, the legs creaking as if from disuse. Then he did as he’d always done.

He talked.

He told this strange man about his dad, his best friend Scott, Mrs. McCall who was one of the best nurses here. He talked about school, comic books, his thoughts on aliens, the Google spiral he’d fallen into last week when he’d learned all there was to know about making soap. Anything to keep the quiet from returning or to keep from approaching the subject of his mom. He liked to think the man appreciated having something else to focus on instead of the silence as well. He hoped so.

Stiles glanced at the clock after a while and noticed it was nearly six. His dad got off his shift then and would usually drop by the hospital to pick Stiles up a few minutes after that. He stood, stretching from sitting still so long, and he had to grab his chest as a flare of unnatural panic overcame him.

“What—” Stiles gasped, eyes widening as fear and loneliness crashed into him. Dread. Anxiety. Desperation.

Stiles looked up and met the now-familiar blue eyes that looked just as blank as before and yet also so very full of life.

“Woah, calm down,” he breathed, reaching out to grasp the man’s hand on instinct. The unnatural feelings ebbed off, but Stiles was oddly still aware of them. “My dad will be here to pick me up shortly so I’ve got to go, but I come by after school every day to see my mom. I…” Stiles glanced away, unable to look at those eyes that seemed to laser in on him. “I don’t really like sitting with my mom every day because she either yells at me or isn’t really there, so I’ll come by and see you, if that’s okay?”

Wonder. Nervousness.

“So weird,” Stiles muttered to himself, rubbing at his chest where his heart fluttered strangely. He didn’t understand any of this. The strange  _atmosphere_ that this man emitted seemed to only get more and more confusing.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I promise.” Stiles grinned easily, surprised to have genuinely enjoyed visiting with the man, even if he had just been talking by himself for over an hour. He squeezed the man’s hand one last time before turning for the door.

…

Peter watched the boy leave until he was gone from his sight, unable to turn his head to watch for those last few seconds before he opened the door and slipped out. His wolf howled in his mind. Desperation and loneliness had truly overcame him if he was already forming pre-packbonds with any living body that ventured into his room and remained for anything beyond the barest of necessities. He felt exhausted, even if all he’d done was sit and try to focus on the words that had flowed from the boy’s mouth. Normally his sense of consciousness flowed in and out, unable to focus or really discern just how much time with passing. Any waking moment was just a moment of agony, having been culled from what was left of his Pack and abandoned to his wounds. It’d been nice, to have a moment of reprieve.

He hoped the boy would return. He would just have to trust that he meant his promise. He sent one last flutter of feeling across the pre-bond to the boy just before he got too far.

Peace. Anticipation. Hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Send me a prompt on [tumblr](https://therapeutic-steter.tumblr.com/)!


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